Derren Brown Fucking Things

I need money and The Canadian Broadcasting Corporation is offering it.  The CBC writing contest has prizes that range between four and six thousand dollars for works of poetry, creative nonfiction and short fiction. It’s probably a problem that I’ve never properly written fiction before, but they didn’t seem specify what kind of fiction they were looking for. I even bothered to check out the previous winners section, but they seemed to mostly be poignant stories about people overcoming obstacles so I just wrote a couple of short stories about magician Derren Brown fucking things instead.


Derren Brown is hurtling through the prism of space. He’s dipping his palms into the rings of Saturn like they’re skimming through a placid temple pool and he’s got his cock out. Derren Brown is naked in space and releasing his spores into the universe like a dandelion. He’s spawned 13 generations of flies on the moon of Titan by wanking into a jar and leaving it over night.

Every earthling full moon he spreads his arms and soars into the clear pink skies of Saturn’s icy moon to mate with the fly queen of that generation. It’s a delicate process, he says, but he’s a gentle lover. And they fahcking love it, he says. Derren Brown doesn’t discriminate between the sexes not out of lust but largely because he can’t tell either way.

Derren Brown dips his cock in the highest quality of American cheese whiz and spreads eagle on Titan’s white frost meadows, enticing them with his sugar-peach skin.  They fahcking love cheese, he says.  He flies through space at 180 miles/hour with his arms outstretched , shrieking into the midnight black Nyeeeerrooommm ehn ehn ehn ehn ehn fighter jet noises. It’s how he fucks too. His lungs inhale the vacuum black of Space and convert it into the purest mountain air and then he is the loudest thing in the universe.

Derren Brown does this all from his living room. He orders KFC and fills his mouth with chicken tenders until he loses consciousness. Derren Brown astral projects himself into the beating heart of the universe with hot chicken and a smoke bath of chowder. Then he shoots into the sky honey golden and naked. Derren Brown puts his cock on your face while you’re sleeping.


Derren Brown left Croydon for the Hinterlands to meet a vampire. Derren Brown is a vampire. They met on a Usenet forum. The forum discussed mid-level bicycle races so their meeting was fortuitous. They decided to meet one another on the day of the thirteenth moon at the darkened burial ground of Europe’s ancient East.

A week before their meeting he turned his wrists up to the sky in a blood offering to his brother Moon. Blood dropped to the ground like marbles and onto the grass outside of his terraced house. Brent called out from the kitchen asking if he’d like some tea, that’s his life partner. Brent is a dragon. Derren said “No” and called back toward the open window “What was it the bank wanted?” but Brent wasn’t listening. They haven’t been in love for months.

Derren Brown began to pray to the dragonlord Al’Kor and watched his bloodied lawn as the stained earth reformed around him into symbols and words then sentences. These sentences directed him to the lowest cost flight to Europe’s dark heart and on Wednesday afternoon he reached the ancient Steppes by Ryanair.

He didn’t say to Brent when he’d be back. When Derren left he quietly left out the back door, counting every footstep and creak. Brent cried when he knew Derren wouldn’t have heard him.

From the black Steppes Derren took a taxi to a large house in the West End and at around 2pm he met the gaunt vampire. He was invited inside to the vampire’s sterile, rock lair in town centre. The vampire was just installing new heated floors and apologised for the mess. Derren said “It’s no problem!” and they smiled at one another. Then they spent all day sharing their interests over tea and had overall a lovely time.  When he returned home Brent was gone, as were his things. He left a note but Derren didn’t read it.

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